


To Kill Ya

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Series: Drunk!Verse [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Drunkenness, F/M, Gross, Hangover, Nudity, Swearing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 09:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12208170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: Fitz + tequila = public nudity. This is the aftermath.Part of the Drunk!Verse series but can be enjoyed separately.





	To Kill Ya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pobmmm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pobmmm/gifts), [stjarna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/gifts).



"Ooghhh."

Fitz snorted and slapped at his face, eyes scrunching up at some horrible noise penetrating his skull. It sounded like a jackhammer had mated with a dentist's drill and had roughly a hundred babies, all of which were screaming.

"Fuuuuuuuuck."

He rolled his face further into his pillow. Maybe if he pressed hard enough he could smother himself to death? That would be good. Or at least, it would be way better than his life was right now.

Sniffing at the cotton pillow case, damp from his drool, Fitz realized he wasn't in his own bed. _He_ didn't smell like raspberries or baby powder.

"Simmons?" he croaked. Then he cringed. Raising his voice was _not_ a good idea.

Neither was rolling over. He had to grip the bedsheets and count to fifty before the world stopped spinning around him.

As everything settled back into place, he heard a fucking _elephant_ coming down the hallway. Or at least that's what it sounded like based on the heavy footfalls. He briefly considered fleeing for his life but he decided that being trampled would probably be less painful than moving would be right then.

"Fitz?"

Even with his eyes closed, he had to slap a hand over them to protect them from the light coming in through the opening door.

"Simmons?" he whispered hoarsely. His tongue felt like it was covered in a thick coating of velvet and the entire inside of his mouth tasted the way a trashbag smelled after it had been left in the sun for a week. The more awake he got, the more aware he was of both of these unfortunately facts. "Have you come to kill me?" he asked hopefully.

He winced at her sarcastic snort.

"Hardly. I've come to give you a smoothie."

Ah. That explained the million tiny dentist drills jackhammering into his skull earlier. She'd been using a fucking _blender_.

He briefly wondered if she might have given his brain a quick whiz-bang in it, as well.

He attempted to sit up and immediately collapsed back down again. He could actually _feel_ all the blood drain out of his face as his stomach started to churn.

"I don't th-"

His sentence was interrupted by a violent heave, and suddenly Simmons was sitting on the bed urging him to throw up into a bucket. From the smell of it, he'd done that at least once already. Since he had no memory of it, it must have been while he was still drunk.

"Shhh," she said, rubbing his back. "Let it all out, now."

It reminded him of his mum comforting him when he had a stomach flu. It was nice. Well, aside from the sick.

Once there was nothing left to come out, he dropped back down onto the pillow and moaned.

"Don't be such a baby."

He cracked one eye open cautiously and saw a barely concealed smile on Simmons' face. Either she was enjoying his misery or she was enjoying taking care of him. Smart money was on both.

"I'm not a baby," Fitz whined. "I'm dying."

"You're hungover."

"Same thing."

Over his protests, Jemma sat him up slowly and propped him up against an extra pillow. She steadied him for a moment, and then he was sitting and the world wasn't spinning. Well, not too quickly.

"Drink," she said firmly.

He held out his hand blindly, still not opening his eyes. A cool glass was slipped into his hand and then a straw was guided to his lips. Trust Simmons to think of everything.

"Thanks for this," he muttered around the straw. He opened one eye again and saw a genuine smile this time. "Sorry for being such a bastard."

"It's alright," Jemma said indulgently. She patted his knee and stood up. "I'm going to make some breakfast. We'll get some food into you and you'll be right as rain in no time."

"I'll come with you," Fitz said. Through heroic effort, he managed to swing his legs around to the side of the bed at the same time that he tossed off the blankets. Then he paused, waiting his head and the earth to return to the same orbital speed.

"Uh, Fitz?" Jemma said, coughing delicately.

"I'm fine," he said, dismissing her with a wave. "Nothing more to come up til I finish this smoothie. As long as I go slowly, I-"

"Fitz?"

"What?" he squinted at her, not sure what her expression meant.

"I’m going to need you to put on some clothes before you say anything else."

Oh.

Eyes both opening wide in horror, he stared at Simmons, even as his hand clawed at the bed beside him in search of the blankets he'd just thrown aside.

"Oh god," he whispered. He had to swallow a mouthful of bile and suddenly he wondered if perhaps there might still be something left in his stomach after all.

"I'm afraid you threw yours into the fountain last night," Jemma said. She sounded downright _pleased_ that she had this over on him. "Your boxers ended up hooked on the eagle's wing, but I've been assured that you'll get them back on Monday when the grounds keeper is on duty and can get out his ladder. Your shirt and jeans were soaked, so I put them in the dryer."

Fitz nodded in horror, flashes of the previous night coming back to him in high contrast snapshots. He had all of the blankets bunched up on his lap now, and he was doing his best to hide his whole body behind them.

"I'm not sure you _want_ to wear jeans without anything under them, though, so if you'd rather I could loan you a pair of yoga pants." She paused, and he watched as the thoughts crossed her face. "Maybe _give_ would be a better verb in that case, actually."

"That'd be- Yeah."

She turned to a drawer and pulled out a pair, handing them to him with a sweet smile. "Do you think you'll listen to me next time?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "About the dangers of tequila?"

Fitz added the yoga pants to the pile on top of his lap and nodded miserably.

Even though he knew he probably wouldn't.


End file.
